The Mission

standing notably tall

above corrugated iron and tyres

the green head blows proud 

in this place of shade where my

children swing safely in branches

to and fro, to and fro, to and fro

when hungry I reach for low hanging fruit 

then climb branches for a view, 

away from my flat life 

to picnic with honest friends 

allowing ants crawl over ankles 

and bees balance on bottle rims

there I lean back on the trunk 

to make myself feel young

against seed planted years ago 

by missionaries who loved us

their roots far below 

stuck down firm in 

the mud of our lives 

soaking up our spirit 

into things earthy and eternal

here I taste the fruit of my ancestors 

they who dug the hole 

and danced with joy 

that I may lie here and hear my children 

sweetly swinging, sweetly swinging

* The mission brings health to a community once devastated by HIV/AIDS but now bearing stories of hope

Cathedral with a difference

Cathedral

My cathedral of soft walls,

creation, a sacrament taken

with no words from a hymnal

or sermon to convince.

Just the whispering of wind,

the whistle of a duck,

the sip of the swallow and

the splash of spoonbill

is the unpracticed choir

that moves my soul.

The willow and I dip thirsty

straws to the depths of this sacred place,

longing to be quenched by

the spring of dreams.

This membrane thin between

earth and heaven, is where I am.

My offering to such can only be

to breathe, write and proclaim.

* Creation is a true place of worship

fading friends

solitude lost

when making new found friends

the lichened rock

the mossy grass

the angel

the eagle

otter

and ORIBI - fading friend

* going to nature is not a solitude it is the meeting of new friends and friends soon to be lost

lemon birds

once adrenaline-bungee

rave

crazed

eyes

watch patiently through sparkling lens

the multi flowers dressing

dust drowsy suns and lemon birds

whilst metronome rocks receive the waters lapping

*nature tends to ease the need for adrenaline seeking entertainment

sparrow man

sparrow man am i,

nothing but my thoughts to read,

my mind to quiz,

to realize that i am, just me.

quietness the tutor,

the frail and vulnerable

creature small,

i am,

me

* this ceramic sparrow is always on my desk. it reminds me of my size in the universe. it reminds me of what is greater in the creator's domain

Preparing for Remembrance Service

Getting myself together for a Remembrance service on Sunday. I was browsing through an anthology of poems entitled '101 poems against war' and I was reminded of this one that speaks volumes into our responsibility when it comes to defending others . What goes around comes around and what happens when it eventually comes around to our doorsteps. It also touches on the fact that there is no passive position in war, no action equals action, we are accepting the status quo.

First they came for the Jews.
But I didn't speak up because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the communists.
But I didn't speak up because I was not a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists.
But I didn't speak up because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics.
But I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.

Then they came for me.
And by that time one was left to speak up.

(Written supposedly by a U-boat captain Pastor Martin Niemoller)

It's just a cap

A hat, its just a hat, a cap for that but so much more to some. On or off, off or on, that cap they wish would come. A young boy brave to church he comes a cap upon his head. Grateful our hearts should be, a young teenage boy to church he comes despite mocking from his peer. He stands to read his cap pulled low he calls us to our knees. They will not bow, they will not sing, they will not move - the cap is all they see. In higher judgment council meets the subject brought to dock. The cap must fall, the cap must fall, instead the sound of footsteps heard as cap walks out the door.

Hilton College Chapel Service

Last night I preached at Hilton College. I was underdressed in my tweed jacket and green vestments. The attire of scholar and master was black as bats in robes reminiscent of years gone by. They filed in like robots programmed from burrows this way and that. The occasional hum of 'sir' was heard but little else as they turned left and right, filed up and down to their hard worn seats to sit another chapel service out. The hidden pulse propelled us forward, tradition, the clock that brought the zombies in. We raised our hymnals to chant not sing, the governmental rule. Up came one the prayer to recite, another the scriptures to announce. No telling who was next that queue invisibly pronounced. I moved in step, the high lectern to adorn with all my Methodist attire. Lets pray I said, and as if the roof fell down they collapsed on knee to pray. One small command the power was felt like turning the light switch ‘on’ then ‘off’ and ‘on’ again. There I stood suspended in hallowed air on stilts it felt before a passage of inward looking benches all squeezed with blazers black and white. My left and right two tiers on each the eyes around me bore. Round one, I thought I heard as I began to share, a message that would go out and find an ever hopeful ear. Like a green leaf I felt, blown in from somewhere else, I felt the eyes of centuries exchange. It was glorious, most glorious to stand within the futures powers and humbly blow the wind.

(Click here for the Hilton College web page)

Awestruck

Struck by the Higher’s Hand wielding power that humbles stubborn nations, convicting hearts that build guilt free temples. Struck in awe by the Hand that pulls the strings of the Universe into vivacious shapes of shimmering blues and sanguine greens. Struck by the Hands that cradle infant lambs and mother’s concerns, the gentlest of whispers the softest of songs. Awestricken am I with this powerful Creator, this masterful friend.
(based on Isaiah 40:1-14)